


To be the Best

by flipflop_diva



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: BAMF Melinda May, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one would ever accuse her of being a typical mother. And although most people said that with scorn and snide looks, she took pride in it. She wasn’t a typical mother, her child was not a typical child and there was nothing she could imagine wanting less than that. The pre-canon story of Melinda May and her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To be the Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinlizzy2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/gifts).



No one would ever accuse her of being a typical mother. And although most people said that with scorn and snide looks, she took pride in it. She wasn’t a typical mother, her child was not a typical child and there was nothing she could imagine wanting less than a stuffy life in a suburban house with two point five kids and a husband and a nine-to-five job.

•••

The baby was born on a Tuesday evening, twelve hours after she was sent in to steal top-secret documents from a prominent congressman. After all, no one ever suspected the pregnant lady.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” the doctor asked worriedly when she told him she was checking herself and her daughter out of the hospital. He looked at her like he knew how tough life for a single mother could be, but his expression clearly said he thought she was making a big mistake.

“We’ll be just fine,” she said, and signed the exit papers.

The baby was twelve hours old.

•••

They lived on the run, hiding in the shadows, keeping out of the spotlight. Small apartments, abandoned houses, underground bunkers. 

The baby never suffered though. She was always fed on time, always clean, always held. She lay swaddled against her mother’s chest as her mother lied and cheated and stole and went after targets. 

At a year old, the training began. One was never too young to learn to fight back. The mother herself had been trained by her own mother at the age of three. Her daughter would not be any different. In fact, she would be better — more skilled, more graceful, more talented. 

This life was not meant for everyone. It was meant for the best.

The May women were always the best.

•••

The mother’s foot connected with the small leg, and the child fell, tumbling to the ground in a heap of awkward limbs. She climbed back to her feet and glared at her mother.

The mother did not feel bad. Feeling bad was a useless emotion. One of many that she had no time for.

“You must learn, child,” she said instead, “to always be watching.”

“I was watching,” the child said, and put her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing.

“If you were watching, you would not have been taken down. Now let’s try again.”

The child backed up, crouched and waited. The mother nodded. The child sprang at her. She was very quick, but she was not yet subtle. The mother knew exactly where she was headed and she quickly moved to block her, to take her down again.

This time the child fell harder, but she climbed back to her feet quickly. The fire was still in her eyes.

“Again,” the mother commanded.

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

The child was panting by now, but she was a stubborn one. Just like her mother. She never quit. She backed up once more, crouched and waited. This time her eyes did not betray her. She sprang, feinted, her little leg hitting her mother’s.

The mother smiled, pride flowing over her face.

“Good job, my child,” she said. “You are learning well.”

“Someday you will not be able to stop me,” the child said.

“I hope not,” the mother answered.

The child was six years old.

•••

The mother studied the girl. She looked the part — tight dark shirt, tight dark pants, boots, fingerless gloves, hair pulled back off her face. Attached to her hip was everything she would need — a gun, a taser, a small tool belt with everything they needed to break into the empty warehouse. 

“You are sure you are ready for this?” the mother asked, and the girl looked at her and nodded. 

“Of course I am,” she said.

“You cannot let anyone see you,” the mother said. 

The girl rolled her eyes. “I know this,” she said.

“And you must do exactly as I tell you.”

“I know this, too.”

“Out there, I am not your mother. I am your commanding officer.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the girl said. “Can we go now?”

“If you get in trouble, you will have to deal with it.”

“I’m ready.”

“There is no going back.”

“I’m ready.”

“Then let’s go.”

Three hours later, mother and daughter returned home, a little dirty, slightly bruised, but with the information they needed tucked in a disc in the mother’s front pocket.

“That went well,” the girl said. She tried not to sound too happy, but the mother could tell she was pleased with this first mission.

“It was acceptable,” the mother said. “You have much to learn.”

The girl was fourteen years old.

•••

The girl dropped a plain white envelop on the table in front of the mother. Her face was impassive, but her eyes sparkled. The mother noticed immediately — and she knew exactly what it meant.

“You got in,” she said coolly.

“I did,” the girl said, and she could not contain the small hint of glee.

“You are sure you want to do this?” the mother said.

“Very sure.”

“I could get you in.”

“Mother,” the girl said. “You know I cannot work with you. I must do this on my own. And you’ve always said you liked Director Fury.”

“I do indeed.”

“I will be in good hands.”

“Yes, you will. When do you leave?”

“In two days.”

The girl was nineteen.

 

•••

“It is time.”

The mother looked up. The girl stood before her, small suitcase in hand. The mother merely nodded. 

“Good luck,” the mother said.

The girl nodded. The two stared at each other for a few moments. Finally the girl spoke again.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mess up,” the mother said.

“Of course,” the girl said. She turned to leave.

The mother hid her sigh.

“I will only say this once,” the mother said, slightly louder than normal. She saw the girl pause. “But I am proud of you, Melinda.”

Melinda turned back, and for one small second, a smile spread across her face. 

“I know,” she said. “I learned from the best.”

The mother nodded. She had. Now only time would tell if it had been worth it.


End file.
